


The Greening of Cape Suzette

by appending_fic



Series: Pentaflores [4]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017), Talespin (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Awkwardness, LGBTQ Character, Minor Character Death, Multi, New Friends, Peril, Post-Canon, Rescue Missions, Teenagers, Webby Continues Collecting Friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-24 04:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30066420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appending_fic/pseuds/appending_fic
Summary: A disaster striking Cape Suzette pushes Shere Khan to do the unthinkable - ask Scrooge McDuck to come to town. Meanwhile, the extended families of the Cape Suzette crowd struggle to deal with the disaster.
Relationships: Bagheera/Shere Khan (Jungle Book), Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck & Webby Vanderquack, Scrooge McDuck & Shere Khan (Jungle Book)
Series: Pentaflores [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163165
Kudos: 13





	1. Stepping Into a New Era

The question of cause and effect - of the _start_ of things - inevitably occupies the minds of people, whether they are human, duck, bear, or metal. Sometimes, when bad things happen, people ask what caused it - to find a way to prevent it from happening again, to wonder if they could have stopped it if they were paying closer attention, or, more often than not, to find someone to blame.

In some ways, things began at the moment when the spark of magic first ignited within the spirits of conscious beings - although if you make such a claim, the beginning might as well have been when the unnamed creator sowed the first seeds of reality in what would latter be identified as the maddening void between worlds.

There are other points that could be said to be the start of this - moments that will be reflected upon in time.

But _something_ began when Maura Caulder, of the University of Cape Suzette College of Sciences, acquired a collection of preserved seeds from the estate auction of Doctor Reinhold Buschwurzel, which were amusingly said to originate from 'The Continent of Lemuria'.

If she'd followed through on her intention to source the unknown seeds immediately, rather than set them aside and forget about them for two-and-a-half years, things might have gone very differently.

But, in the immortal words of the Mad Philosopher Solego, "Make yourself the man you wish to be, and what does it matter what could have happened in the past?"

* * *

Shere Khan's Labor Day pool party, thrown annually since Samaksh was eight, owed its existence to several factors working in tandem. The first was the joint worry by Samaksh's parents that he wasn't socializing as well as his school counselor thought he should, and that exposing him to more casual social affairs might fix this. The second was Nanda's discovery that Khan Industries' various subsidiaries didn't give employees Labor Day off, which Bagheera had (possibly) jokingly suggested was because Shere Khan wouldn't know what to do with _himself_ if the entire empire was closed for the day.

The third was Bagheera, under Baloo's influence, taking up grilling as a hobby, and therefore developing a need to gather large groups of people to subject them to the fruits of his labors.

From these disparate elements was born Shere Khan's Labor Day party, held at the Cape Suzette Country Club instead of Shere Khan's actual home because inviting crowds of people into his actual home gave Shere Khan a nervous tic and tendency to vanish without warning.

It was the fourteenth of such events - Samaksh was twenty-one years old and no longer needed his father to throw parties on his behalf, and the entire Khan Industries empire was shuttered for the day, appeasing _Nanda's_ (now twenty-eight and in pursuit of her doctorate) worries. Bagheera still enjoyed spending an afternoon cooking for a crowd of friends and family, albeit without the manic energy of his early experiments - but Samaksh suspected they might have continued the event even if not. Louie may live within hailing distance, but the event was the most reliable way to drag Colonel Hathi out of his regimented retirement, and if there was free food and drink, Kaa could be counted upon to make an appearance, so Shere Khan enjoyed it as a more enjoyable event than the Khan Family Reunion - a decennial clash of old feuds, shifting loyalties, all performed under the watchful gaze of Granny Khan.

(Samaksh, for his part, could take or leave his fathers' reunion with their friends. Hathi was alright, but Shere Khan had too well taught Samaksh to be wary of hypnotists and magicians. Raised on those stories of the dangers of magic in all its forms, Samaksh had panicked and bitten the magician at Wynter Hollbrook's ninth birthday party. While he certainly wouldn't repeat that performance unless provoked, Kaa, master illusionist and hypnotist, kept Samaksh constantly on edge.)

None of Samaksh's peers had made this particular event - there were other, more prestigious parties, where animals looking to scramble to the top of the heap were on the hunt for other animals to use as leverage to climb (and shove down after them, if possible). So Samaksh was lounging by the pool, wavering between a swim and a nap, when he spied a quintet of bears stepping out of the clubhouse onto the green - two smaller and pale; and three taller, grey, brown and dark brown in a staggered line.

Samaksh rose slightly, intrigued. Baloo and Rebecca Cunningham of _course_ he recognized, Molly naturally from her time as the only babysitter Bagheera would trust (and, barring that, her aerial circus), and Kit almost by default. But the strange bear, broad, dark, and around Kit's height, he couldn't place, and a newcomer was always an object of interest. Bringing someone to Shere Khan's Labor Day party was usually a production - it had been two or three years now since the kid had entered the picture, and Kit hadn't brought _Tiberius_ -

The dark fur jostled Samaksh's memory as he bolted up, staring at the fifth bear as he hurried toward them.

" ** _Ty-_**?" (He cut himself off three syllables short, remembering almost too late that Tiberius Cloudkicker was unlike Samaksh, in preferring other animals to forget what his given name was.)

The dark-coated bear's head jerked around, and it _was_ Ty, taller, broader, and a little uncertain in that new size, by the way he stumbled a little on seeing Samaksh.

Samaksh slowed when he reached the bears, offering a nod to the other bears. "Mrs. Cunningham, Baloo, sir. Kit-"

Molly grabbed Samaksh in a tight, not-unexpected hug. " _Hisabara_!" she cried. "How _are_ you?"

Samaksh shrugged, flushing at the nickname, known by few outside of his family and used by even fewer. "I am doing well." He struggled a little out of the embrace, brushing down his shirt (short-sleeved, in deference to the informal nature of the event, but still buttoned and with a collar, because he wasn't a _hooligan_ ).

"Hey, little buddy," Baloo drawled, clapping a hand on Samaksh's shoulder. "You know Ty, obviously."

"I do." Samaksh turned to Ty, smiling at him gently. "Do you remember me? We've met a few times-" (More than a few, but Ty looked nervous, tense from his ears down through the rest of his body, which meant it was time to be politic)

"Khan!" Ty blurted, before snapping his jaw shut.

Samaksh nodded. "Yeah. Samaksh - Shere Khan's my father."

"No, I - definitely. You." Ty smiled at Samaksh, the expression slightly strained. "Uh. Good to see."

"Well, I suspect your father wants you to make the rounds, but I'm likely to be over by the pool if you want to find me."

"...The pool," Ty said vaguely.

"Well - only if you want," Samaksh amended. "I hope you have a good time - there are plenty of people to speak to."

"Hey, you know what?" Kit asked, one hand on Ty's shoulders, guiding him away. "Me and _this_ little britches are going to find something to drink. See you later, Papa Bear!"

Baloo waved cheerily at them as they left before turning to Samaksh, slinging an arm over his shoulder with the same familiarity as he treated _every_ member of the Khan family. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Baby Khan?"

"It's been a few months," Samaksh corrected as he guided them slowly toward the buffet (and, he hoped, _subtly_ toward where Bagheera was grilling in his 'Pounce the Cook' apron no one had ever admitted buying for him), while Rebecca and Molly made for the poolside. "Apparently I missed a growth spurt."

"Oh, yeah - Ty's really coming into the family height," Baloo replied, with absolute biological inaccuracy, but in a cheery tone which experience had taught Samaksh meant no amount of arguing would _ever_ get Baloo to admit he was wrong. "Anyway, how's school? You're studying business, right?"

Samaksh shook his head. "Maybe later - Bagheera told Father I can always get an MBA if I want to learn how to be a complete bastard from _amateurs_."

Baloo's muzzle wrinkled slightly as he shook his head. "It's been more'n twenty years, and I still can't wrap my head around the way your parents flirt."

Samaksh, who'd grown up seeing the odd play of affection and gentle antagonism that made up Shere Khan's and Bagheera's relationship, shrugged (and, having learned caution from Bagheera, and watchfulness from Shere Khan, did _not_ comment on Baloo's own marriage to Rebecca Cunningham, in the interest of avoiding a debate he had neither the energy nor inclination for).

"So, if it isn't business, what _are_ you studying? You following in your sister's footsteps and digging around old ruins for a living?"

"Anthropology and philosophy," Samaksh said. "But I concentrated on religion in _both_ majors, so it wasn't quite as much work as it sounds like."

"Still, it's a lot more cogitating on heavy thinking than _I'm_ used to," Baloo mused. "You gonna find all the answers for us?"

"No, I…" It was hard to explain what had driven Samaksh to study what amounted to comparative religion, except that although real gods existed, religions with more distant gods were far more widespread. Storkules was theoretically the equal of, say, Yora the Lion, but few people worshipped the one Scrooge McDuck attested he'd actually met in his autobiography.

"There aren't a lot of answers, really," he decided on. "It's more about the - journey."

"Well, I'll trust you know what you're about," Baloo replied. "Just - try to keep your head out of the clouds all the time. Get someone - ah - if you're _inclined_ , who keeps you tethered, that's my advice."

Samaksh nodded, although in his experience, his sister had done more to keep his head out of the clouds than any hypothetical partner.

And at that moment, they arrived at the grill, where Baloo released Samaksh to loop an arm around Bagheera's shoulders.

"Baggy! I've been talking to your boy, here - he's a smart kid, you know that? He's been talking circles around me about all his god-bothering."

Bagheera winked at Samaksh, smiling at Baloo. "Yeah, we've got some idea. How's that grandson of yours?"

"Oh, _wonderful_!" Baloo replied, stepping back to fumble for his phone, pulling up a picture of a football field. He pointed at a _much_ smaller figure than the one Samaksh had seen earlier. "He's really doing well in school - varsity soccer, plenty of friends - ooh! I got a picture of him heading off to a dance last spring-"

Samaksh slunk away from the proud papa bear showing off his grandson, seeking his original seat, intent on a proper catnap now. He only had a week or so before he went back to school, making this his last chance to really rest.

* * *

Louie was bored.

_Technically_ this was a good thing; F.O.W.L. had been responsible for enough mayhem that their defeat had left the Clan McDuck with a little more breathing room. But also, Donald had put his foot down, and, shockingly, Della had backed him up. The adventures didn't _stop_ , but were limited to weekends except in emergencies, and _emergency_ was defined well enough to keep Dewey from dragging them off all the time.

But triplet shenanigans, and the sort of schemes Louie could get up to in school, had a much lower potential payoff than Scrooge McDuck adventures. And, as aggravating, stressful, and theoretically deadly adventures were…

They broke up the days. There was nothing _wrong_ with sucking down Pep and watching 24-hour marathons of Ottoman Empire, but it _was_ monotonous, and the _really_ interesting cons only came as part of an adventure away from home.

_Not_ that Louie would ever push the others to start one of those adventures, but-

He wouldn't complain _too_ loudly if Scrooge burst into the living room declaring they needed to explore some lost tomb.

It was part of the reason he was currently poking around Scrooge's study. He wasn't opposed to adventures in _theory_ , but had long despaired of finding a way around the stress of them. It had been, surprisingly, Huey, who had given Louie his breakthrough. 'Forewarned is forearmed', he'd declared while talking about...some sort of Junior Woodchuck thing.

And that was the answer. The more Louie knew about the stuff Scrooge was reading or talking to people about, the less likely he'd end up in a place he knew nothing about, facing unexpected dangers and unknown horrors.

Unfortunately, Scrooge's desk contained no open books describing the world's most dangerous treasure hunts, no diary discussing his favorite dangers to expose his nephews to, just quarterly finance reports and old copies of the business section of the paper.

When Louie decided to risk the drawers, the first one he popped open yielded-

A surprise.

It wasn't _technically_ a surprise - Louie knew a picture like this existed somewhere - but not one he'd expected to find just laying around where Webby should have found it years ago (albeit buried under a drawing of the Library of Alexandria, and, under it, a sketch of a leaning tower with the caption 'The Library of Lemuria?').

It depicted Scrooge, a bear, a black panther, and a tiger, the cats in matching tuxedos, and Scrooge and the bear in blue suits. The tiger, of course, was Shere Khan, CEO of one of the largest companies in the world. Consequently, there was a good chance the panther he was leaning heavily into was Bagheera, Shere Khan's husband. They were smiling at each other, ignoring the camera and their companions, which was sweet, Louie guessed.

He flopped back in Scrooge's chair, studying the photograph. Shere Khan and Scrooge talked, he knew - regularly on holidays, and at odd hours outside of that. But they never _visited_. Scrooge never popped off to Cape Suzette, and Shere Khan never appeared at the front gate. It was odd, especially given how close they lived to one another.

But on the other hand, this was Scrooge, who had complicated relationships with everyone he knew - Louie wasn't certain why he would have expected Shere Khan to be any different.

There was motion by the door; Louie yelped and shoved the picture back in the drawer, sending a few pieces of paper fluttering to the ground as he slammed it closed. Some of his panic eased when he saw the (other) intruder was his mother, leaning against the doorway.

"I'm going to guess Uncle Scrooge didn't say you could be in here," she said.

Louie shrugged, aiming for 'casual'. "He told me his door is always open."

"And you and I _both_ know he meant when he's actually _here_." She strolled over, putting a gentle hand on one shoulder, tugging him to lean against her in the seat. Louie braced himself for a chastisement - light but _firm_ was where she'd settled, with him, but it always stung a little. But instead, Della sighed. "What's up, kiddo?"

"Wha?"

She swayed a little, making Louie shift with the movement. "You aren't usually the one digging through Uncle Scrooge's effects. In fact, you're usually the one telling Dewey and Webby to leave it alone. So - what's going on in that noggin of yours, huh?"

It was unnerving, sometimes, to have Della poke into parts of Louie's brain like she knew him. But she'd been in their lives for five years, now, more than enough time to figure out how someone worked, especially if you _cared_.

So Louie shrugged against her side. "Just - bored. Trying to get a bead on where Scrooge is going to drag us _next_."

"Hm," Della mused, and Louie could almost _hear_ it in her tone that she didn't think that was everything. But instead of pressing, she leaned down to pick up the scattered papers. "I don't think anyone's been able to keep one step ahead of Uncle Scrooge like that, but it couldn't hurt. Huh."

Louie's heart sped up - not at the word, but the _tone_. It was an adventuring sort of sound - the moment when someone's interest was piqued by something out of the ordinary.

"What?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but probably failing; his mother had _certainly_ known him long enough to know Louie wasn't energized by either the prospect of adventure or the thrill of discovery.

"This old letter," Della said, waving one of the papers. "It mentions an adventure I don't think I've ever heard from Uncle Scrooge about…" She frowned, thoughtfully. "The Lost Lotus of Lemuria?"

"Something best left alone," Scrooge said, sudden, from the doorway; Louie and Della yelped in unison, and Louie saw a chagrined expression on his mother's face that reminded him of _himself_ -

"Heyyyy, Uncle Scrooge," she said. "Louie was just telling me you told _him_ your door is always open-"

"But not the drawers of my desk," Scrooge grumbled as he tugged the papers out of Della's hands and shooed Louie out of his chair. "Ye might run into something you're not equipped to handle."

"Like this Lost Lotus?" Louie asked. "Is that some artifact you recovered? There was a picture of a tower in here, too-"

"The Lost Lotus _is_ something I tried to hunt down, once, but now it's buried where no creature can get to it, I hope," Scrooge replied. "I've seen legends of other artifacts associated with the Lost Continent of Lemuria, and, occasionally, mention of a - library, or repository, that could be found there once. And _everything_ I've seen linked to Lemuria is _dangerous_ \- some even too dangerous to lock up in the Bin. It's why I let Gyro keep working with the Solego Circuits, and why I've tried to bury some of the stories about these artifacts. And it's why we should count ourselves lucky the Lost Lotus of Lemuria is out of the picture for good."

* * *

It is twenty-five years before the present day, more or less.

Imagine if you will, a cavern, the sort of place where the phrase 'bowels of the Earth' comes easily to mind. Lava bubbles in a massive pool the way lava rests in movies, red-hot. Platforms rise from the lava, dark stone somehow untouched by the heat. The platforms are empty - not unoccupied, but abandoned, emptied.

Once, there were things of value kept here, but now, there is nothing.

Until a hand bursts from the lava, holding a blade, which it jams into the side of one of the platforms. The blade is long and spreading, more like a bludgeon than a sword, and a faint corona surrounds it, making the steel gleam with a red tint. Another hand, covered in a pair of metal claws, rises above the blade to drag a figure half-free of the lava. 

The creature is pale - covered in almost silver fur (nearly bronze in the light of the cavern). Their eyes are gold, the teeth of their long muzzle white, ears long and sharp. There are imperfections in their form - tears in flesh that allow glimpses of metal beneath the fur.

They climb, at last, to the pinnacle of one of the platforms, and collapse onto the stone, and the sword falls from their grip, other colors seeping into its corona. They lay there for a handful of minutes before rolling onto their back. With their now-free hand, they reach into the folds of a loose robe to pull free-

A red flower, delicate in appearance, though its glowing petals do not bend when the creature brushes a finger across them. It is clear, by the creature's smile, the gleam of their eyes, that this is no ordinary flower. To be worth swimming in lava, it might be worth a king's ransom, or more…

Whole worlds might be lost for the sake of this flower.

The creature tosses aside the claws from their other hand and waves it in a complex gesture, and the flower turns in place - half of it vanishing with the first turn, and the entire thing with the second.

And then they sit up. They lay a hand on the rainbow sword, which turns in place like the flower to vanish, and then the claws. And at last, they stand.

" _I_ win, John," they say to the empty air, in a voice with - stilted affect. "Which you might have done if you had _any_ idea what you were dealing with."

And with that, the apparently fireproof jackal trudges out of the lava-filled chamber, to purposes unknown.


	2. New Friends and Old Friends

True students of conflict - those who delve into the histories of great wars, world-shattering battles, and those plots that embroil countless universes - tend to categorize conflict not by the people involved, or even the specific beliefs that the factions claim as their driving principle, but by the theme of the conflict.

Such scholars see conflict between order and chaos; security and freedom; individualism and collectivism; progress over tradition. To wallow in the "causes" of such wars is to lose perspective about their nature.

Most people consider such scholars insufferable asses who have the privilege of divorcing themselves from the realities of conflict in the real world, and they are right, more or less. Certainly, the study draws to it those who can view a galaxy-spanning conflict with merely academic interest, instead of any concern for the people involved.

But their work - in defining the great conflicts of each age according to the opposing themes - has its use. Because it would be easy to judge the conflict, say, between Scrooge McDuck and F.O.W.L. as a war between good and evil, that the victory of Clan McDuck was a victory for right-thinking animals everywhere. That in the wake of McDuck's victory, an age of righteousness might emerge across the globe.

But this is wrong.

The conflict between Scrooge McDuck and F.O.W.L. was one between control and freedom.

And so, if anything, McDuck's victory opened the way for an age of chaos.

Consequently, one could not be said to be unreasonable in concluding McDuck's ethos to be permissive of chaos for chaos' sake - though one inclined to such actions to begin with would care little for McDuck's feelings on the matter.

Regardless, in the wake of McDuck's victory over an enemy embodying absolute control, one might be curious whether chaos was in some way emboldened by the result of this conflict.

Of course, to do anything more than simply observe would border on being…

Problematic.

* * *

It was nine in the morning and Shere Khan was not yet out of bed. There was a time he would have considered such an indulgence unthinkable for a businessman of any worth, but that was before he had, of his own free will, adopted a four-year-old child.

(The eleven-year-old had not helped, but there was a certain quality that a four-year-old brought to one's life that enabled one to appreciate time spent with minimal likelihood of a child clambering into your bed and, through no actual malice, shoving a knee into your pancreas.)

The child in question was far less likely to interrupt Shere Khan's sleep now, being twenty-one years old and studying for midterms, but Shere Khan had, over the past twenty-five years, discovered his business would not collapse around his ears if he indulged himself every now and again. Perhaps more importantly, he had discovered that maintaining the illusion of his absolute indispensability in every moment of Khan Industries' operation was more trouble than it was worth. There were people who needed him more in the quiet hours of the night, and in the morning…

He pulled Bagheera closer to him, making no effort to stifle the purr that rumbled through his chest; he was well beyond making efforts to conceal his affection for Bagheera _from_ Bagheera.

"Mrn'g, Kitten," Bagheera murmured into his pillow, before turning, sprawling out over Shere Khan, smiling at him sleepily.

"Not for a very long time, my dear," Shere Khan replied, brushing his hand along the outline of Bagheera's ear.

Bagheera shifted from a sleepy sprawl to a more comfortable weighted embrace, though he settled his nose sleepily against Shere Khan's collar. "A filthy lie. I have pictures of you napping in sunbeams."

Shere Khan squinted at his husband, idly considering how much energy he wanted to commit to this debate. On the one hand, he _was_ looking forward to not having to move for the foreseeable future, but on the other, his dignity was being called into question.

He didn't have an opportunity to resolve the quandry, as his phone gave a sharp alert, jerking him out of his drowsy contemplation. Bagheera rolled up to give Shere Khan room to reach for his phone, which Shere Khan did with a growl and an idle spark of annoyance to whatever problem had led someone to think they needed to _call him in_.

(His employees had shown a marked reluctance to interfere with Shere Khan's after-hours time ever since the first time he'd brought Samaksh to work and nearly eviscerated his CFO for raising his voice where his son could hear it. So he was at least comforted by the fact that whatever they were calling him for was important.)

"What is it?" Shere Khan grumbled.

"Ah, Mr. Shere Khan, sir, there's - we have a problem." It was his COO, Curtis, and his voice was steadier than Shere Khan would have expected.

"I certainly wouldn't expect you to call me on my morning off, which I am spending _with my husband_ , just to chat," Shere Khan retorted. "So if we could get to the point…"

"We're experiencing some - ah - difficulties with the infrastructure throughout Cape Suzette," Curtis replied.

Shere Khan frowned, waving off Bagheera's inquiring look. "When we took you on, I was under the impression you could speak plainly, Curtis."

"It's just - difficult to describe," Curtis stammered. "They're sort of - plants?"

"Plants," Shere Khan repeated. "You called me to tell me about plants?"

'Plants?' Bagheera mouthed; Shere Khan shrugged helplessly.

"They aren't exactly ordinary plants," Curtis said. "They're - growing very quickly, and ensnared several cargo trucks-"

"And we have no landscapers on call? Fast-growing or not-"

"Well, that's the, uh, main problem," Curtis allowed. "When you cut one of the vines, you...sort of end up with two. People already tried to work that out by the arboretum where it looks like the whole thing started-"

"The arboretum? Unsurprising," Shere Khan started, before several facts aligned themselves in his mind, and his throat locked up. "The...university arboretum?"

"I think there's only - one arboretum in Cape Suzette."

"Good. Thank you for alerting me to the situation. Please notify my secretary to cancel my meetings for the remainder of the day," Shere Khan said, before hanging up. Bagheera was seated, cross-legged, on the far side of the bed, head tilted, a faint frown on his mouth.

"There's a situation?" he asked.

"There is, absolutely," Shere Khan replied as he rose out of bed, pulling casual clothes from his dresser because he did not have the time to dress like a real person. "The University of Cape Suzette Botanical Garden is overrun by some sort of fast-growing vine that can't be cut back without - duplicating itself, and the problem appears to be spreading outward."

"And you're charging to the rescue on the presumption Samaksh is in some sort of danger," Bagheera concluded as he pulled on a shirt, voice mild, and the control Shere Khan had held onto during his brief exchange with Curtis snapped.

"He is _our son_ , Bagheera - of course I'm worried about him!"

And Bagheera, miraculously standing behind Shere Khan, rubbed a gentle hand along his shoulder. "We've had this talk before. Admittedly, this sounds more perilous than kindergarten or his first sleepover-"

"One day Coryne van Naught is going to be put on trial for war crimes and you'll regret making fun of me for pulling him out of that class," Shere Khan muttered.

"I will gracefully accept your smug pronouncements when that occurs," Bagheera murmured. "But for the moment - things clearly sound dire, but what has running into the middle of things ever done the two of _us_? You are very frightening in the boardroom, Shere Khan, but I doubt there's much you can do against - mutant plants."

It was reasoned, sensible, and everything Shere Khan needed to hear, as something settled in his mind. He was _worried_ , still, but he knew what he could do to make it all okay.

"I can call Scrooge McDuck," Shere Khan retorted.

* * *

It was nine-thirty in the morning and Louie was pretending not to be sleeping through chemistry class when his phone rang.

His teacher glowered at him. "Mr. Duck-"

Louie bolted up, fumbling with his phone as he smiled at his teacher. "Yeah, wow, I do not know what I was thinking, leaving this thing on during class. But, you know-" he glanced at the screen, seeing 'Della Duck' on it, "it _is_ my mom, so it might be a _family emergency_ , so how about I just check-"

He tapped, 'Accept' and lifted his phone to his ear. "Go for Louie."

"Hey, kiddo," Della said, voice in her too-bright tone, like she was ready for Louie to react badly to what she was saying. "We're heading out to Cape Suzette in thirty for a...horticultural emergency, and we need you back at the mansion in fifteen."

Louie's look of dismay was not actually affected, as his stomach jolted unpleasantly. Weekday adventures were always emergencies, and those were _never_ fun, and rarely involved opportunities for profit.

"I understand; I'll be there." Louie pulled up his bookbag and notebook, smiling at his teacher. "Sorry - like I said, family emergency-"

"Mr. Duck." His teacher held out her hand for his phone. He handed it over. "Hello? Who is this?" There was a moment of quiet. "Mr. Duck says there's a family - oh. I see. Yes. Well, of course."

Louie took back his phone and smirked, even if his escape from school was anything but a victory. "My mom'll be in touch when everything's sorted out."

He found Huey at his locker, frantically sorting through the emergency supplies he kept in _there_.

"We're going back to the mansion," Louie said. "What do you expect to have _here_ that we can't pick up _there_?"

"I have no idea," Huey said, stuffing the 'Junior Woodchucks Junior Field Guide' into his bag, "but we should be prepared for _anything_."

"Oh, absolutely," Louie agreed, leaning against the locker next to Huey's. "But, counterpoint-" He pulled the Junior Field Guide out of Huey's bag and shoved it back into the locker, "you already have your Junior Woodchucks Guide in there-"

"But what if we need a supplementary reference-"

"And you've got an LED flashlight in your multitool," Louie added, returning Huey's flashlight to his locker.

"But I can carry spare batteries for this one," Huey protested, alerting Louie to the existence of the spare batteries, which he returned to the locker.

"Guys!" Dewey skidded past Huey and Louie, scrambling to keep his footing as he slammed Huey's locker closed, nearly clipping Louie's fingers in the process. "What are we waiting around for? Adventure awaits!"

Louie rolled his eyes, but knowing his many concerns would be brushed off, pushed Huey to get him moving so there was at least less standing around arguing the countless ways they might all die on the way to, or in, Cape Suzette.

Webby found them just steps away from the front door, wrapping her arms around Huey's and Dewey's shoulders. "Adventure!" She cheered.

"Whoo-oo," Louie agreed, at least to show willing; Webby gave him a sympathetic smile suggesting she wasn't entirely fooled.

"Do you think we'll meet Kit Cloudkicker again?" Dewey asked. Louie guided the group out the door, where a dark van that proved to be driven by Mrs. Beakley was waiting.

"That's one possibility," Webby mused. "Scrooge hasn't been to Cape Suzette often - even though it's a city surrounded by mysteries and enigmas." She braced herself as the van roared to life. She tapped her beak before glancing at Huey. "Is there anything you've read about near Cape Suzette?"

"Hm." Huey flipped open the Junior Woodchucks Guide, scanning pages with quick strokes of his finger. "The mists that concealed Cape Suzette from discovery for over a century of non-native exploration have always been an unusual phenomenon, and there are privateers believed to operate in the area that might have left treasure behind."

And that sparked a debate that ate up most of the time back home, everyone excited to imagine what adventure awaited them, no one realizing that a weekday adventure wasn't going to be a treasure hunt or discovering the secret of city-concealing mists.

It was going to be dangerous - and as urgent as it seemed to be, they'd be thrown right into the middle of it.

But the others didn't need Louie bringing them down with his pessimism, so he let them chatter, keeping his own somber ideas to himself.

The plane was prepped to go as soon as they arrived, Scrooge shooing them in as soon as they clambered out of the van, buckling ducks in, shouting at Della.

And then they were off. 

And this wasn't so bad. When they'd just taken off, in between the comfort of home and the horrors of the unknown, just flying, together. It was only a moment, usually, before they settled on the adventure before them, but Louie had learned to savor it, leaning back in his seat and sighing.

"Sooo," Dewey said, twenty seconds after takeoff, "what're we looking at here? Pirate treasure? Weird weather? Undiscovered civilizations?"

Scrooge took a deep breath, as if steadying himself, and Louie felt a squirm of unease in his stomach. "The first thing you need to understand is - I don't go to Cape Suzette much."

"Yeah, I thought it was weird," Louie replied. "Even after you and Shere Khan started talking again."

"Wha - _Shere Khan_?" Webby demanded, nearly jerking out of her seat. "I knew you two **must** have met during your failed hunt for the Lost Lotus, but I haven't found much more about your time there - except you sent Della there for flight school." She narrowed her eyes. "Is he one of your nemeses?"

"I suppose he's a business rival, at worst," Scrooge replied. "But we're...friends."

"Scrooge was best man at Shere Khan's wedding," Louie added, just for the look of shock on his siblings' faces. Webby punching his arm, less so.

"You **knew**?"

"Yes, ow!" Louie snapped, rubbing the sore spot as he glared at her. "I assumed you had a weird conspiracy board about what their connection was-"

"Well, Shere Khan's the reason I normally stay away. He had concerns about the amount of - collateral damage that can happen around me, and the last time I was here, I _did_ get his husband kidnapped by John Rockerduck and an evil sorcerer. So." Scrooge shrugged.

"So why are we going _now_?" Huey asked.

"Because Shere Khan asked," Scrooge said. He pulled out the phone he still barely knew how to use, pulling up a video. It was muted, but no narration was necessary, as cameras showed a sprawling mess of vines slowly crawling down a Cape Suzette street, entangling cars, buildings, and streetlights. Strange, green-tinted fungus sprouted from within the mass.

"What is that?" Huey asked, squinting at the screen.

"No clue," Scrooge replied. "But it's fast-growing, and, since trying to cut it back just makes it grow _faster_ , it's forced most of the city to shelter in place. Shere Khan's asked me to get to his son at the University of Cape Suzette. Kit Cloudkicker, though, asked for you, Dewey, specifically, for _your_ help."

Dewey perked up, eyes bright as he bounced on his toes. "Running a daring evacuation flight? Heroically helping him locate a way to defeat these plants?"

"Ah - no. It's something a little bit more...personal."

* * *

Chatter about whatever was going on outside had been gathering for an hour or two before Principal Foster finally announced that the school was sheltering in place, sending everyone to the gym to wait out the 'situation'. Ty had tried to ignore the wild rumors, but he had a study hall right before the announcement, and Rose was glued to her phone's newsfeed, so he'd gotten an increasingly informative discussion of the plants overrunning the city, most of which he'd tuned out.

And now they were all sitting in small groups around the gym; Ty was sprawled on the bleachers, with David and Conway listening raptly to Rose's increasingly-worrying rundown of a threat that didn't sound dangerous until she started talking about the integrity of the electrical grid.

Ty's phone rang, a brief interruption in Rose's lecture.

"Go for Ty," he said.

"Hey, little britches," Kit drawled. "I just heard about the school. Is everything okay?"

"It's fine - more or less. Rose is telling us horror stories about how rampant plant growth can destroy electric grids."

"And foundations," David said, voice a little shaky.

"Hey, is that Mr. Cloudkicker?" Conway asked, leaning close to Ty's ear. "Hey, Mr. Cloudkicker! We got out of a trigonometry test for this - how cool is that?"

"Are _you_ alright?" Ty asked, trying to ignore the tiny quaver to his voice.

"Course I am," Kit said, voice soft. "Your aunt's got us all holed up somewhere safe. And ole Shere Khan's called in the big guns."

"...Big guns?"

"Now, uh. Don't hate me for this," Kit said, tense, like he did whenever he was unsure, "But I sort of called in a favor for some guys to get you over here. Not that your teachers won't keep you safe, but uh." He trailed off, and Ty could almost see the awkward shrug.

And Ty took that in for a moment, eyeing his friends, who were (if he was being honest) keeping him from worrying about the shit going down outside, bristling a _little_ at the thought he needed rescuing, and feeling warm at the thought that Kit had seen the world going to hell outside and had decided he needed his kid there (and, if he was being slightly more honest, relieved he was being given an opportunity to weather this out with his dad instead of his teachers, who he knew weren't being paid enough to deal with whatever might happen if things got worse).

"No, I'm not - mad. That sounds...good. But, uh. Can you just do that? They're having us stay in place right now."

"I had a long talk with your principal," Kit assured Ty. "I had to pull out my 'mean Mrs. Cunningham' voice, but he agreed eventually."

"Mhm," Ty replied, fighting down a snicker at the apt description of his grandmother's 'stern' tone.

"And don't worry - these guys are really good at what they do. One of them even managed thirty seconds of cloudsurfing without throwing up!"

It was better than Ty, who'd grabbed onto a handle in the cargo bay and sobbed wildly until Kit closed the doors and got them back on land.

"...Is this going to involve flying?" he asked, chest hitching.

"No. Probably. Look, just trust them, and you'll be fine. They've survived a lot worse than _this_."

Ty nodded, before remembering he was on the phone. "Sure."

"I love you kid - see you soon."

"Love you too, Dad," Ty muttered, before hanging up. When he looked at his friends, they were all watching him, Rose's increasingly ominous pronouncements apparently less entertaining than Ty talking to his dad. "What?" he demanded.

"You're leaving," Conway said accusingly, snout wrinkled sadly. David wasn't much better, ears flipped back, eyes watery, like he was actually going to cry.

"I - my dad wants me to wait this out with him," Ty protested, glancing at Rose for help, but finding her left ear twitching, face in a thoughtful pout.

That argument, however, seemed to win Conway over, as he settled back more easily in his seat with a slight roll of his eyes. "Yeah, I've tried arguing with Mr. Cloudkicker when he gets over-protective; it doesn't go anywhere."

Rose was still frowning, though her gaze dropped to her phone as she did so. Ty, who'd almost managed to relax himself, felt his nerves working up again.

"What?"

"I'm just wondering who your dad's got pulling you out of here."

"He said they were professionals," Ty offered.

"Your dad works with daredevils," Conway added, ears perking up. "It could be, like, a team of super-daring rescuers for hire."

"Professional do-gooders?" Davis asked.

And then one of the gym doors thirty feet away slammed open to admit a gaggle of ducks - a girl in pink armed with some sort of long knife at the front, head darting so quickly it was impossible she'd actually examined the gym before she shouted, "clear!" Three (possibly) male ducks followed her, similar enough in appearance they _had_ to be siblings, dressed in red, blue, and green. One of them (the one in red - a buttoned top button and tie away from the exact energy Samaksh Khan gave off) was actually paying more attention to a battered book than their surroundings. The one in blue, wearing a Duckburg High letter jacket, strolled in front of the one in pink, puffing themself up.

"Hey - anyone know where we can find Tiberius Cloudkicker?"

And Ty sank down in his seat; he hadn't realized this was going to be a _production_ , and that his dad wouldn't have had the time to explain to the alleged professionals (and he boggled at the thought that these four - barely older than him, if they were older than him at all - were the people Kit had called) that if being sort-of rescued involved being called Tiberius, he'd prefer staying where he was.

And then the fourth duck - the shabby one in a bulky hoodie - straightened and jerked their head _directly at Ty_. They murmured something, and then _all_ the ducks were looking in his direction. They moved quickly, people shifting out of the way of the blue and pink ones, until they were at the bleachers, and the pink-clad one stuck her hand out toward Ty.

"Hi! I'm Webby. You must be Tiberius."

"It's _Ty_ ," Conway said, crossing his arms and glowering at Webby, a growl threatening to escape him.

And the green-clad duck paused, tilting their head sideway, studying Conway. "No, I'm pretty sure _this_ is Ty," they said, jerking their head toward Ty. "They're the one that reacted when you made a spectacle of yourself, _Dewford_ ," this latter directed at the duck in blue, "and I refuse to believe that no one would have mentioned if Kit Cloudkicker's son wasn't a bear like him." They squinted at Ty, looking him up and down, before adding, "although _someone_ clearly wasn't on the ball, sending us to babysit a guy who could carry all four of us."

"Come on - between Webby and me alone, we're a quartet of badasses!" Dewford (although Ty resolved not to call the duck that name until he figured out if it was as much of a sore point as 'Tiberius' was) retorted. "And that's without Huey pulling out The Duke."

"I've been beaten up by kids _smaller_ than him," the green one pointed out, at which point Principal Foster arrived.

"Excuse me," he said, "what's-"

"Mr. Cloudkicker explained everything, didn't he?" the green-clad duck said, sliding easily from arguing with their siblings to smiling at an authority figure, holding a hand up to shake. "I'm Llewellyn Duck, and these are my associates Hubert, Dewford, and Webbigail Vanderquack." He pointed at each duck in turn, identifying the remaining duck in red. "My card." He slipped a business card into the principal's slack fingers, smile fixed on his face. "We're here to escort Ty here to meet up with his father...which you agreed to. We were _assured_ this was the case."

"I - well, of course - but when Mr. Cloudkicker said - I thought you'd be, ah, older."

"We have a _wealth_ of experience, I assure you," Llewellyn replied. "And, of course, the fact that Mr. Cloudkicker _has_ entrusted Ty to our care relieves _you_ of any liability from concerns about our alleged capabilities."

"Uh." Principal Foster's eyes were slightly glazed, presumably because there was something hypnotizing about the torrent of words Llewellyn was throwing at him.

"You really don't have to worry at all, sir," Hubert (was 'Huey' right, or did he only let family call him that?) said, stepping forward. "I've completed training in navigation, first aid, and survival - wilderness _and_ urban - through the Junior Woodchucks. Keeping your student safe is a point of honor."

"I…" The tag-team of smarm and confidence seemed to wear down Foster, as he nodded slowly. "Well, Mr. Cloudkicker _did_ say so…"

"Alright! Let's get this show on the road!" Dewford said, clapping his hands and looking at Ty. "You ready, Tiberius, or do you need a minute for finding beloved family heirlooms, tearful goodbyes-"

David took that as an opening to grab Ty in a hug that was slightly less all-encompassing now that Ty was a head taller than him. He sniffled a little into Ty's shoulder, until Rose pulled him back.

"You'll be careful," David commanded, poking Ty's stomach.

"Of course," Ty replied. "I've apparently got real professionals on the case."

"Okay," David said, before scanning the group and narrowing his gaze at Llewellyn. "Promise me you'll keep him safe."

Llewellyn's eyes went wide, pointing at his chest questioningly. "I'm not the muscle, here-"

" _Promise me_ ," David repeated, sending Llewellyn an uncertain step back.

"Yeah - alright, whatever. If it comes down to me, we're all doomed anyway. Come on, Ty - we've got places to be, and they're getting harder to get to by the second."

"I've been thinking about that," Webby said as she herded them all back out of the gym. "If we can scrounge up two or three more grappling hooks, I can fashion together a series of rudimentary rope bridges-"

"Uh. Can we. Not?" Ty asked, drawing four sets of eyes to him. "Just. Uh. I'm not great with heights."

"Well," Llewellyn said first, "that explains why Daddy Cloudkicker didn't swoop in to pull you out of this himself."

"If you feel comfortable, you should probably warn us about any other phobias or triggers you might have," Huey, dropping back from the front to walk even with Ty, said.

"He should even if it _isn't_ comfortable," Llewellyn interjected, hunched forward, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, entirely different from the duck he'd been talking to the principal. "Because with _our_ luck, they'll come up at the worst possible moment and two-thirds of us will get killed."

"Louie, two-thirds of five is three and one-third," Huey replied, probably intended as a correction, but instead forcing Ty to imagine the gruesome ways in which one and two-thirds of them might survive.

And Llewellyn (Louie? Unlike Dewey, he hadn't slipped and called Ty 'Tiberius' since Conway corrected Webby, so maybe he understood embarrassing names) shrugged. "You might think this kid's hot shit just because his dad's Kit Cloudkicker, but he's clearly out of his depth. I'm just doing my best to keep him from getting any of us killed - or **worse**."

There were people, and circumstances, in which Ty would have laughed at that declaration. But when Louie Duck's voice went rough at the word 'worse', Ty couldn't do anything but take him seriously.

* * *

Following Louie Duck on Twitter was the best investment Goldie had ever made.

(Not as _herself_ , obviously - it would ruin the sensei-aunt/student-nephew vibe they had going on if he knew she liked him, and, of course, it would defeat the purpose of using Twitter to spy on him if he knew she was doing it.)

The greatest impediment to Goldie's success as a treasure hunter and con artist was the occasional unexpected appearance of Scrooge McDuck. So the fact that through Louie's Twitter feed, Goldie got routine notifications when Louie was embarking on a journey to somewhere he might die thousands of miles from home in some ancient, unexplored tomb. Consequently, she usually got a good idea of where Scrooge was, and therefore could rely on him _not_ to intrude on any plundering she intended on doing.

As a result, while Cape Suzette was experiencing something like out of a bad horror movie, Goldie was in Prague, using a hairpin to disable a series of laser sensors between her and a relic she'd had her eyes on for years. From there it was easy to make her way to the display, the glass case holding the gleaming golden goggles of a long-dead adventurer. Taking blade to glass, she gently cut it open and pushed the circle of glass aside, reaching in to acquire her latest treasure.

"I believe I once read a quote that applies to this situation," someone said behind her, and Goldie, for her part, didn't startle. She did slip the goggles into her pack as she turned, heart in her throat because she hadn't heard _that_ voice for over twenty years.

A jackal with pale fur stood a dozen feet away - he was dressed in all black, like an _amateur_ , and was smiling at Goldie.

...Or at least he was showing all his teeth.

"What was it?" the sorcerer Zura mused, before tapping his nose. "Ah, yes! We see there is nothing you can possess which I cannot take away. Hand over the goggles."

"I have to admit I'm surprised to see you," Goldie said. "Seeing as the last time we met, we left you to, ah, drown in lava."

Zura shrugged, his shoulders moving oddly, as if they had a few extra joints in them. "I'm sure McDuck elucidated you on my...nature. And what was once constructed can...always be rebuilt."

It was a menacing statement, especially as Goldie didn't remember Zura and Rockerduck being on that good terms when they left, either. But she couldn't imagine anyone else having the inclination or resources to rebuild a wicked robot sorcerer.

"So," Zura said, "how about those goggles?"

"Come _on_ ," Goldie whined. "I spent _ages_ figuring how to get at these, and waited until Scrooge was busy with whatever's going down in Cape Suzette so he wouldn't interfere, and now - what? You're just going to take this?"

"Of course not," Zura replied, slipping a hand into his coat, and for a moment, Goldie was almost disappointed he was going to pull a gun on her, like some cliched-

It was not a gun.

It was a gleaming red flower she'd once seen him use to try to incinerate Scrooge McDuck.

"So, uh. That's a surprise, too," she said, voice strangled.

"The Scarlet Lotus is a manifestation of flame itself," Zura said. "It should be _expected_ to survive a mere fall into lava. Now…" The flower's glow brightened, and Goldie had never more wished she'd taken the Eye of Demogorgon with her that day (she resolved, if she ever got out of this, to take it with her _everywhere_ ).

"Alright, alright," she said, yanking her bag over her shoulder with enough force it knocked into the display case (the sorcerer didn't even wince at the crash), and throwing it at Zura's feet. "Go ahead and take it - I might as well get out of this with my _life_ at least."

"...Did I say I intended to _spare_ you?" Zura asked, smile widening, and reminding Goldie the _benefits_ of having Scrooge interfering in her adventures - he drew a lot of the fire their collective enemies tended to throw their way.

Goldie took a deep breath. Zura was a robot, so charming her way out of this had a...fifty-fifty chance of success. But chances _that_ high never got her properly riled up.

"Don't you want your fancy goggles first, tin man?" she asked.

Zura's right ear twitched. "You're trying to irritate me."

"And you want to make _sure_ I'm dead, don't you?" Goldie retorted. "And if you were confident in the power of your little flower, you'd have used it already." She smiled wide at him, showing all her teeth. "Or am I wrong?"

"No...you've got a point," Zura agreed, taking a step forward, eyes on Goldie as he knelt, the Scarlet Lotus pointed at her like a weapon, and, for a single crucial moment, letting his gaze drop.

And Goldie, who was _multi_ -talented, slipped on the goggles she'd pocketed when she'd thrown Zura her bag - because if Zura wanted these goggles, they were worth far more than the gold they were made of.

They settled on her head, heavy, and the world seen through the gold lenses was tinted red.

"Those aren't going to do you any good," Zura gloated, raising his red flower. "You aren't a wizard, much less a _sorcerer_ , and without the knowledge that comes with that, that thing's just gaudy eyewear in your hands."

"Put your hands up and drop the...flower?"

Zura turned, a confused growl in his throat, while Goldie bolted - because whether or not she _liked_ cops, they could be convenient, if you had a way to summon them, like the silent alarm in a museum. Moreover, they were consistent, and so to them, an unarmed woman in snazzy goggles would _always_ seem less dangerous than a man holding _anything_.

"Thanks, boys!" she called as she passed them. And later that night, reading about the conflagration that had destroyed close to a quarter of the Prague Museum's collection, made a resolution.

First, she was _keeping_ the goggles.

Second, as much as she hated showing up with no ulterior motives...she might have to warn Scrooge that Zura was still alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Tiberius Cloudkicker is user bubb's (lollytea on tumblr) creation, and a main character of their comic Swindle. You can head over there for a lot of background that loosely informs the character as I've written him.
> 
> Also, I'm glad I can start editing/posting this now that the finale's over.


End file.
